It's a Family Affair
by xmengirlzrule
Summary: The Professor thinks the XMen need to learn more responsibility and, along with the other instructors, decides to throw them headfirst into a “real life simulation”. What lies ahead in the realm of adulthood? A spouse, kids… a job? Many canon appearances.
1. The Beginning & Directions

**It's a Family Affair**

* * *

I disclaim all proprietary rights pertaining to anything and everything Marvel® associated.  
(Note: This disclaimer also applies to all things else I don't own.  
I give full credit to their possessor.)

* * *

"regular communication"  
'telepathic communication, thoughts'  
**titles  
**_emphasis, flashbacks, languages  
_journal entries

* * *

**Chapter One (1 … I)  
The Beginning & Directions**

**Dining Room : 9.42 am  
**Grimfaced and visibly upset, a terribly displeased Charles Francis Xavier rolled his wheelchair around to face the vast multitude of genetically mutated students attending his prestigious institution for the _gifted_, per se. He moved with handicapped momentum through the youthful congregation, contemplating each of his apprentices, scanning their minds for the slightest feeling of remorse over their ruinous actions. Since the _Apocalypse Incident_—as the government had titled the disastrous period—many mutants had come forward and revealed themselves to be. The Acolytes, BoM (Brotherhood of Mutants), other anonymous mutants, and even a few humans with a love for the abnormal had soon pledged their newfound allegiance to Xavier and his X-Men in their fight for equality, freedom, peace, and prosperity between all of mankind. And with no one left to command or manipulate, their leaders soon followed suit… reluctantly, of course.

It had only been three months since then, when the renovated mansion finally opened their doors to more company—so little a time. And already there was more chaos, idiocy, and mayhem than before.

Hunched over in his seat, the Professor sat, recollecting memories… not only belonging to him, but also to his colleagues and his pupils… all concerning the same event. They all remembered a time and what the adults had come home to that last Saturday night only a few days ago.

_Loud music blaring out of the stereo's speakers._

_Damaged furniture turned over and strewn everywhere in disarray._

_Drunk teens babbling nonsensical words to each other, swaying along to the heavy metal._

_The sound of expensive china shattering as it made contact with the tiled kitchen floor._

_Boys and girls sitting in darkened corners and playing Spin the Bottle, vigorously sucking face._

_Footballs carelessly being thrown and gliding through the air._

_Metal blades slashing._

_The song slowly fading out._

_Disappointed moans and groans._

_A deep, dangerous growl echoing throughout._

"I thought that _maybe_—_perhaps_—you had learned your lesson from the _last_ social gathering you threw at the mansion, my _responsible_, _trustworthy_ X-Men, which, may I add, ended up in complete disaster with you almost being eradicated by Arcade, and, if you remember, a month's worth of chores and extra Danger Room sessions with Logan… I apparently thought wrong, didn't I…? Maybe I've become too lax in my old age… Is that it? Hmm?"

The incredibly disgraced superhero teenagers refused to make eye contact with the superior, heated elders. Instead, they hung their heads low, some hoping to tune out the headmaster's lecture, all quite ashamed and embarrassed to be preached at so.

The Professor cleared his throat regally, regaining his students' attention. "The other instructors and I have finally come up with a punishment befitting your _appalling_ behavior as of late."

Heads immediately jerked up from their lifeless positions. Ears perked. What was going to happen to them? What would they be made to do?

Xavier steepled his fingers and rested them by the tightly pursed crevice that was his mouth. His brow furrowed as he sighed dismally, for he did not enjoy disciplining what he considered to be _his_ children. But it was necessary… something he couldn't avoid doing, or reap the consequences. "Not only will you be supervised during _any_ and _every_ activity you participate in from now on—or at least until we feel you have regained our trust… _individually_—you will also be spending the whole of your summer vacation taking a course, directed by us, in what we like to call a…"

Everyone scooted forward to sit on the edges of their seats as they anxiously awaited their sentences like convicted criminals.

"… _real life simulation_," he continued.

Thirteen year old Amiko Yashida—the Wolverine's adopted daughter, a foreigner born and raised in Japan for the majority of her short, unlived life by Logan's deceased fiancé and her foster mother, Mariko, and then by his trusted friend Yukio—held her hand up high.

"Yes, Amiko?"

"Professor Xavier, what _is_ real life simulation?" she asked to the best of her ability in broken, butchered, and heavily accented English. "I terribly, terribly confused. Someone would explain better to me, please?"

Xavier's eyes, though aged and wrinkled, twinkled with delight, his gentle baby blue orbs passionately shining. Thrilled to be a witness to Amiko's first attempts at speaking their complicated language, he praised her with a clap of the hands. "Excellently worded, Amiko. And an excellent question! Ororo, I do believe it's your turn now."

Storm gracefully uncrossed her legs and rose from her chair, smoothing down her skirts. She then took the lead, but not before flashing a gracious, toothy grin to her dear associate, benefactor, friend, and mentor—head of the X-Men's organization. She began, "Upon the discovery of the mutant _x-factor_ gene in these confused, wretched children, their parents and guardians have decided to enroll them here… at the Institute for the summer's being. We need you to be here and there, available to them when we can't be. They will listen and look up to you for advice on their powers and a matter of other things. It will be like being a parent, if you will.

"During the day, we will be working with them… teaching them different techniques we have developed, each specifically designed for each one of them and altered to the way they learn best. While the children are away, you will continue on with the simulation."

"_Oh man! No, no!_ Auntie O, you really can't be serious, can you, dude? You _cannot_ be doing this. Not _this_ weekend!" Evan whiningly protested. "I had plans! What about the big skating contest on Saturday? I'm already signed up, have got the sponsors and _everything_! They're counting on me, Auntie! I _need_ to be there!"

Rogue scoffed. "Yah're so pathetic, Ev. Sheesh, Ah ain't ever heard such a sob story. Boo _freaking_ hoo. Get over yahself."

"_Stripes_." Wolverine shot a reproachful look in her direction, and after having dealt with Rogue and her sharp tongue, he focused his attention fully onto Spyke. Evan loudly gulped as Logan exposed an adamantium-bonded bone claw. "Now fer you," the feral mutant snarled. "You shoulda thought about that _before_ throwing your little shindig, huh Porcupine? Yer gonna go through with this, whether you like it or not. Got me?"

Storm patted her nephew's arm reassuringly. "They will do fine without you, Evan. I promise you."

"And as fer the rest of you," Logan growled, motioning to the other kids, "if yer _still_ brave enough to refuse after _that_ demonstration, which I'm sure yer not, you'll see plenty more where that came from. Anyone who disapproves can take it up with me… down in the _Danger Room_…"

With his being a master of metal, Magneto used repelling magnetic forces to hover above the students at a terrifying height. "And to make this assignment even _more_ interesting," he bellowed from overhead, "we have decided to throw in a few… curveballs." He wore a sadistic smile upon his lips, its affect quite ominous. "You will pretend to be married to the partner _we_ assign you. There will be no divorce, and that is final. Your family will live in the old rundown maids' quarters which Charles's miracle worker contractor has restored and built into a five story apartment complex. On the very bottom floor is the Laundromat where you can attend to all your dirty garments, and the manager's office resides on this floor as well—you shall meet him or her later on this afternoon. The second, third, and fourth floors are residential. Each suite accommodates six rooms: one for you and one for your spouse—and there will be absolutely no tomfoolery, as we have installed cameras everywhere except for the bathroom; but do remember… you can't hide from an all-knowing telepath—one for your child or _children_, a bathroom, a dining/living room, and an adjourning kitchen. All suites are identical; no one is being favored. I must note that the suites _are_ furnished, but only with the bare essentials: an empty refrigerator and freezer, an oven, toilet, sink, and a tub. The rest we leave up to you. And lastly, the fifth floor is occupied by a restaurant and tavern, or, as you might call it, a _bar_," he stated blatantly. "Do not be fooled! For those of you who think we'll let you have even the tiniest _taste_ of alcohol, you are sadly mistaken. You all act like drunken idiots as it is. All you will be served is milk, juice, or water.

"Besides all that, you will work a job, pay bills, care for your children, cook meals, shop for furniture and other supplies, and _may even_ balance a checkbook. You know, all that _wonderful adult stuff_ we do each and every day of our pathetic lives… _And_, in addition to your punishment, you will be required to write a journal entry every day, and the only time you will be allowed off the premises is when you attend the internship we have arranged for you. Clear?"

The teens sighed. This was going to be the worst, most boring summer vacation in mutant history.

* * *

Author's Note: Well, hello there! I'm back! I've been working on this chapter for a long time now (excruciating months and months…) and have finally uploaded it to Enjoy and please review the first chapter of It's a Family Affair.

Completed. 9/11/05. 9.02 am  
Updated. 1/1/06. 11.41 am.


	2. Introductions

**It's a Family Affair**

* * *

I disclaim all proprietary rights pertaining to anything and everything Marvel® associated.  
(Note: This disclaimer also applies to all things else I don't own. I give full credit to their possessor.)

* * *

"regular communication"  
'telepathic communication, thoughts'  
**titles  
**_emphasis, flashbacks, languages  
_journal entries

**

* * *

**

**Chapter Two, Part One (2,1 … II,I)  
****Introductions**

**Recreation Room : 10.28 am  
**The group of unfortunate teenagers had migrated and found themselves to be in the hallway outside the Recreation Room, huddled and crowded against the glass double doors where they snuck a quick peek at their future children. There the juveniles were being detained until their surrogate parents came to retrieve them. The older, more problematic adolescents were surprised to calculate twenty-or-so children playing with each other and the countless toys scattered across the carpeted floor harmoniously. Tots of many ages ran about, ranging from the age of the terrible twos to the nightmarish nines…

Hank McCoy and his associate, Sean Cassidy, alias Banshee, beckoned for them to enter and form a civilized line. The door slowly creaked closed behind them.

**10.30 am  
**"Scott. Jean."

Together, arm in arm, hand in hand, both stepped forward, their footwork in complete unison. Sean handed them a medium sized manila folder and a bulky white envelope addressed to a Mr. and Mrs. Summers. The jacket was the first thing they peered into; it held a directory, blank checks, a slip with a bank account and pin number inscribed on it, and a plastic charge card. Additionally, there were also three one-hundred peach colored Monopoly game bills. Held in the files were numerous loose leaves of printed paper, all describing their particular child: a profile, descriptions of food and drug allergies, special medical information, and medications. They first page they beheld read:

Name: Emma Grace Frost  
Age: 9  
Gender: female  
Nationality: American  
Ethnicity: Caucasian  
Height: 4 ft. 6 in.  
Weight: 70 lbs.  
Eye Color: blue  
Hair Color: brown

Jean cocked her head to the side and gave her _husband_ a lopsided grin. "We, _Mister Summers_," she whispered, "have been blessed with a healthy, beautiful little girl…" She held up a single photograph of traditional black and white coloring for him to view and admire.

When they finally lifted their heads, they noticed a brown haired girl, tall and of perfect posture, being led to them by Hank. The youngling's sharp azure eyes, alert, shifting, and fearless, warily analyzed her new guardians. Safely tucked in the crook of her arm, hugged close, was a delicate china doll with painted features, looking to cost a hefty sum. Unquestionably, Emma Frost was well-endowed with her flowing ivory silk dress, stainless stockings, matching heeled shoes, and dangling diamond earrings that glinted in the light filtered through the paned windows. Jewel encrusted pins were lodged in her mane and the smell of hairspray lingered upon her, doubtlessly perking usually limp locks. And hanging from her arm was a milky white Prada handbag, her name decoratively stitched into the side.

Clean, pretty, and quiet, she was Jean's perfect candidate for a daughter.

Hank laid a supportive hand atop Emma's shoulder and introduced her to the couple. "I present to you Emma Frost."

Scott squatted down—resting his own hands on his muscled quadriceps—to be level with the girl and held out a friendly hand towards her. "I'm S—"

Emma rolled her eyes. "_Please_." She fixed a blank, boring stare on the two. "I _am_ a telepath, after all… You are Scott Summers. Codenamed Cyclops. And _that_ is Jean Grey, your _girlfriend_…" She then turned her attention to Hank. "And I would appreciate it if _next time_, Dr. McCoy, you would let me speak for myself."

Jean was taken aback by Emma Frost's arrogant, knowing manner. But still, she kept her calm. "So, Emma, _sweetie_, did you bring any bags with you?"

"I would prefer it if you did not treat me like a child, Ms. Grey. As you can probably see, I am _very_ mature for my age and don't need your babying. And as for the answer to your question: no," she answered simply. "Didn't your headmaster inform you of the circumstances? The brochure we received in the mail said to just bring a favored toy. Nothing else. It said we would be provided with everything we would need during our delayed stay here. Are you informing me that I was _mistaken_? Because I am sure that my father, the acclaimed millionaire Winston Frost, would love to hear this."

The couple exchanged nervous glances.

'Don't worry, Scott,' Jean sent telepathically. 'We'll know soon enough.'

**10.37 am  
**"Remy. Rogue."

Melancholy emerald orbs begged upon a distraught face. Pathetically, Rogue whimpered, "Sean, yah _cannot_ be serious," as she reluctantly reached out to accept the thick manila folder and envelope from the older mutant who held them out to her. "Ah'll do chores foah a month! Anythin'! Just—please don't pair meh up with him!"

Sean shook his head sympathetically. "Sorry, lass. There be nothing I can do for ye. It's the Big Guy's rules, ye know? I suggest ye learn how to endure 'im, or else it's going to be a _long_ three months…" He turned to the next couple.

Subsequently, Remy LeBeau wrapped an arm around Rogue's shoulder and possessively pulled her close to him. He wound her thick, bouncing auburn curls around his index finger, breathed warm, steamy breath against the sweating nape of her neck, and blew against he ear, tickling the sensitive skin of the lobe. Huskily, he whispered, "Aw, _chère_, y' wound Remy. Y' at least have t' give dis po' ol' Swamp Rat a chance, _non_? Now, why don' we start over an' try dat again, _oui_?"

His experienced hands, gloved, of course, snaked beneath her shirt and explored the curves of a worked, flat stomach. And after identifying himself with the territory, Remy began his seize—his nimble fingers made their way up and down her sides, causing Rogue to launch into a shrieking fit which caught everyone's attention.

He smirked to himself as he watched her chest rise and fall erratically and her squirm in his embrace/

"Y' really should smile mo' often; y' look _trés belle, chère_. Now, what d' y' say?" he asked, temporarily ceasing his assault.

Rogue, pink from embarrassment, answered, "Ah'm sorry, Cajun!"

Remy beamed, totally satisfied with her apology. He patted her head adoringly, praising her. "_Bonne fille_." He then began rifling through the papers Rogue had dropped during his siege.

Name: Carol Susan Jane Danvers  
Age: 6  
Gender: female  
Nationality: American  
Ethnicity: Caucasian  
Height: 3 ft. 10 in.  
Weight: 50 lbs.  
Eye Color: blue  
Hair Color: blonde

From the corner of her eye, Rogue detected Beast coming at her and Remy with a small girl in tow. The child—she guessed her to be Carol Danvers—had a head full of golden curls and bright, shining sapphire oculi. It was noted that she was missing one of her front teeth and that a bigger one was beginning to grow in its place. She wore a pair of blue jeans, a white tanktop, and layered over that, a vertically striped button-down shirt. In her hands, she held a miniature jet and a toy soldier who swung from a plastic parachute. She looked exactly like the delighted child in the picture Remy held, taken only a month ago.

As the two traipsed towards them, Rogue pushed Remy off of her and straightened her clothing.

"This is Carol Danvers. Carol's powers are super strength, durability, and flight. Dear, this is—"

Remy rushed forward, cutting Hank's preliminary short. He gently took hold of the small hand dropped at Carol's side and laid a kiss across her knuckles. "_Enchanté, ma petit chéri_. It be time fo' introductions, Remy be guessin'. As I already said, I be Remy LeBeau, also known as Gambit… also known as _mon amour's préfére _Swamp Rat, as she passionately calls _moi_. Specialties include: bein' a master t'ief an' an expert gumbo chef. And de _jolie fille_ standin' beside me… well, dat be m' girlfriend, Roguey."

"I ain't his girlfriend," Rogue hastily interjected. Carol nodded her comprehension.

"Don' listen t' 'er, _petit_. She jus' be humble, 's all."

"No, no. I ain't… uh… Swamp Rat!"

**10.45 am  
**"Kurt. Amanda."

"Muffin, you know, you don't _have_ to participate," Kurt reasoned with his girlfriend of only a few months, Amanda Sefton. "I mean, you didn't do anything wrong, so why should you be punished as well?"

Amanda smiled and caressed his three-fingered paw with her thumb, gently stroking the fluffed indigo fur. She lifted his hand to her lips, relishing in his touch, and then moved it to his own mouth, silencing his pleas. "Please, Kurt. I _want_ to. Besides, it kinda sounds like fun, don't you think? I mean, you and me… raising a kid of our own… sharing an apartment…" As she cupped his face in her hand, causing shivers to race down his spine, she suggested, "Just think of this as the next step in our relationship. Okay?"

"O-Okay."

"Great." Enthused, she added, "Now, what do our papers say? I want to see who we got."

"Well, it's a girl."

"Oh, Kurt." Amanda playfully smacked his arm and snatched the documents away, quickly scanning through the material for herself.

Name: Clarice Ferguson  
Age: 4  
Gender: female  
Nationality: American  
Ethnicity: UNKN  
Height: 3 ft. 3 in.  
Weight: 37 lbs.  
Eye Color: shining white, no visible pupils  
Hair Color: pinkish-purple

She looked to Kurt. "That's weird. It doesn't mention anything about special abilities or mutant powers. Maybe they want it to be a surprise?"

Kurt shrugged. "Maybe, _Liebling_."

While flipping through the many pages of useful information, Amanda came across an old, bent photograph. The picture showed a toddler sitting in a mall Santa Claus's lap, her void eyes spilling tears as she tried to tear away from the impostor. Amanda continued to study the picture intently, feeling the girl was familiar to her in some way. In fact, she resembled Kurt. The two shared similar characteristics: their pointed ears, colorful eyes, and strangely colored skin, all of which were immediate giveaways to their mutant heritage. The semblance was uncanny.

"So, do you have an illegitimate daughter you want to tell me about?" Amanda teased.

"What?" Kurt inquired. Amanda handed him the picture and Nightcrawler observed it carefully. "Wow. She _does_ look like me, _ja_?"

In the background, someone cleared their throat. Kurt and Amanda regarded Hank standing before them with a small creature hiding behind his bulking figure. The girl, assumed to be Clarice, wore a ratty dress and a worn green cloak that wrapped around her shoulders and hung loosely over her frail body. Her hair, a pinkish-purple hue, was let down in gelled, wet ringlets. In her left hand, Clarice held a Wonder Woman action figure which greatly quivered. With her other hand, she clutched onto Beast and peeked in and out from behind the massive mutant.

"This is Clarice. And Clarice, this is Kurt Wagner and Amanda Sefton, the people who will be taking care of you while your mommy and daddy are away…" He gave her a slight push in the couple's direction. "Her powers are those of teleportation; she can displace people and objects. She can also form javelins that will teleport its target from the energy of her portals."

Kurt held out a hand to the girl and hesitantly, she took it. "Greetings, _Prinzessin_."

"Y-You're not _scared_ of me?"

Nightcrawler softly smiled. "Of course not, _Prinzessin_. You are like me, and that makes you _extra _special in my book." He patted his heart, suggesting his admiration for her.

Clarice returned his smile with a delighted look of her own when he picked her up and slung her onto his back, crouched down on his hind legs. "Now," he told her, "what do you say we go get settled in, _hä_? I'm _starving_." He rubbed his roaring stomach and Clarice laughed, as did Amanda who took hold of his hand and squeezed lovingly. Nightcrawler tightly shut his eyes and teleported his family away—BAMF!—leaving a waft of brimstone behind them.

**10.50 am  
**"Warren. Betsy."

"Bets! Bets! It's a girl!"

Elisabeth Braddock filched the insightful documents from her fiancé, Warren Worthington III. His face began its sagging, so to amend his loss, she tossed him the Monopoly cash and credit card from the envelope she had brutally torn open. He caught the items with ease and slipped them into the safety of his pants' pocket, now content.

She blew him a kiss and went on to, carefully, with an expertly trained eye, examine the other contents of the envelope postmarked Mr. and Mrs. Worthington—she loved the way that sounded to her ears—and the filed papers Sean had handed them. She took her time leisurely glancing over the impressive report for significant information. Using her telepathic talents, Betsy relayed the intelligence she deemed imperative to her boyfriend.

'Name: Theresa Rourke  
Age: 3  
Gender: female  
Nationality: Irish  
Ethnicity: Caucasian  
Height: 3 ft.  
Weight: 30 lbs.  
Eye Color: blue  
Hair Color: reddish blonde'

At that moment, Beast stepped up to them with a rusty-haired toddler sitting contentedly on his hip. Her face, plump and round, was deeply snuggled in Hank's blue fur, hidden away from the couple. The girl was dressed in a yellow shirt and dirtied purple overalls. Her hair was tied up in messy pigtails, various pieces sticking up here and there, the hairpins imbedded in her head standing at unusual angles, looking to be the work of an amateur. She held a naked Barbie and a set of clothes for the vulnerable doll. Her other hand was, at the moment, indisposed, as it was tightly curled up, the only erect extremity being her thumb which was currently being used as a sucking device.

"I'd like you two to meet Theresa Rourke. Theresa, here, can emit powerful sonic screams and can use those sonic vibrations to propel herself through the air, ergo flight." Hank handed the child to Warren who, having never held a baby before, cradled her awkwardly, not exactly knowing what to do with her. "Theresa, this is Warren Worthington and Elisabeth Braddock. They're the ones who are going to take care of you."

Warren broadly grinned. "Hello."

The girl's eyes widened significantly as she studied Warren and his feathered wings. The sunlight which penetrated the windows' blinds illuminated his handsome physiognomy, producing a heavenly glow.

"Ye a _aingeal_!" Theresa proclaimed.

Betsy tittered, her blue eyes glimmering with motherly affection for her newly adopted daughter. She pushed away Theresa's bangs and tenderly kissed her forehead before taking the girl into her own comfortable, caring arms. She supported Theresa's weight on her hip and jounced the three-year-old. "Sorry, luvey. Warren's not an angel. He's just a regular mutant… like you and me. But he _is_ handsome, isn't he?"

She sighed. "Now, this is Warren or _Dad_. And I'm Betsy, but you, luvey, can call me _Mum_," Elisabeth said, holding out a hand to be shaken.

"Your hair is purple!" the girl shouted, astonished. She ignored the outstretched hand.

Betsy studied a lock of her hair. "I guess it is."

"Uh-huh," Theresa replied, a weariness to her voice.

"Umm, Elisabeth, _darling_, I think we've stalled enough, don't you?" Warren arched his elongated neck and nodded his head in the direction of an in-and-out dozing Theresa is Psylocke's arms. Her head, weighing heavy atop her narrow shoulders, bobbed from side to side. Her eyes insanely fluttered open and closed as she attempted to retain consciousness at all cost. "Let's make way to our new living quarters, shall we? I'm absolutely exhausted."

"Yes," Betsy answered. "And Warren's not the only one, is he luvey? It looks to _Mummy_ like a certain _someone_ needs a nap too, hmm?"

Upon the utterance of the word _nap_, Theresa shook off her sleepiness and began to protest.

"I'm this many!" she declared, holding up three stubby, little fingers. "Unca Tom says I'm a big girl now! An' big girls don't take naps an'more. And I gotsa secret… Ye wanna know?"

The two adults leaned in, interested in hearing what their _daughter_ seemed so extremely willing to share with them, mere strangers.

Theresa stood up on the tips of her toes and confidently, she confided to her confidants, "I can use the _big girl_ potty now, too." She flashed a proud smile.

Warren broke into a thunderous, hearty, warm hoot and tousled Theresa's already mussed hair even further. "I see," he said jovially. "Well… I do believe that _that_ secret is better than any of the secrets I have—or have even _heard_, as a matter of fact. What about yours? Does it beat any of yours, my love?"

Betsy chuckled. "I do think so, War."

**10.58  
**"John. Wanda."

Wanda Maximoff held out her palm expectantly while the other hand that hung at her side clenched itself into a fist. "I swear, Pyro… I have _this_ much patience for you and your dumb jokes today." She used her fingers to display the slight measure of tolerance she harbored for her _spouse_. "Now, give me the papers or I won't hesitate to hex you right into next month!"

The seconds ticked off, one by one, and her fingers began glowing a ghoulish blue. "Pyro…"

St. John pouted. "Ya don't even trust moy with a packet of _papers_, _Sheila_?"

"No! And this is the last time I'm going to ask you nicely… Hand them over, now!" Her arm and hand remained straightened, waiting and anticipating, her veins enlarging and looking ready to pop from beneath her alabaster skin.

John pulled a lighter from his back pocket. "But _Sheila_, they're so flammable!" he whined as he dangerously dangled the folder over the dancing fire's flames.

In the blink of an eye, Wanda had suddenly thrust her arm out towards John and the blue glow that once shrouded her own hand now shrouded his entire body, paralyzing the hyper teenage male from the neck down. The metal mechanism that John had threatened the files with fell to the hardwood floor with a loud, resounding clank and the papers with a _whoosh_, landing in a messy flurry. The metal mechanism that John had threatened the files with fell to the hardwood floor with a loud, resounding clank and the papers with a _whoosh_, landing in a messy flurry. She bent over to pick up the lighter and tucked it away in her own pocket.

"I'll be keeping this," she told him as she re-ordered the papers.

John struggled. "No need to _chuck a wobbly_. Let's not have an _argy bargy_," he retorted. "What say ya 'bout the _ankle biter_, _Sheila_?"

Wanda groaned and massaged her temples and the stressed features of her face while John pressed on, questioning her. "This can't be right," she mused aloud. "Just what I really needed. And immature partner and _two_ impish children. What else could possibly go wrong? I'm beginning to think Father has it out for me…" Following her monologue, she read the profiles to John:

"Name: Susan Storm  
Age: 7  
Gender: female  
Nationality: American  
Ethnicity: Caucasian  
Height: 3 ft. 11 in.  
Weight: 52 lbs.  
Eye Color: blue  
Hair Color: blonde

Name: Jonathan Storm  
Age: 5  
Gender: male  
Nationality: American  
Ethnicity: Caucasian  
Height: 3 ft. 6 in.  
Weight: 40 lbs.  
Eye Color: blue  
Hair Color: blonde"

Led to John and Wanda were two children. The kids sported the same exact blonde hair and blue eyes. The girl, apparently starting her teenybopper stage, wore a hot pink tanktop, low-cut blue jeans that advertised an adorable outie bellybutton, and pink Converse sneakers. Her brother was clad in a decaled t-shirt, jean shorts, sandals, and a NASCAR jacket which he seemed extremely attached to.

While the girl remained calm and walked _with_ Beast, the little boy tugged away from the grip Hank had on his arm.

"I _thaid_ let go!" the boy shouted with a marked lisp.

The two greeted Wanda, one with a friendly, endearing smile, and the other with a grim frown. Beast began, "This is Susan and her younger brother Jonathan Storm. Susan can render herself and others invisible and can generate force-fields. Jonathan is a pyrokinetic; he can control heat energy and envelop his body in a fiery plasma."

"I can fly too!" Jonathan claimed.

"No, you can't, Johnny," Susan countered.

"Uh-huh, Suzie."

"Nah-uh."

"Uh-huh."

The children began quarreling between themselves whilst Hank, Wanda, and John stood back and watched… at least, until the fists started flying—figuratively speaking. Johnny wielded his pyrokinetic powers and flew around Susan, surrounding her in a large, flaming tornado. Fortunately, Susan put up a force-field before the blaze could come in contact with her. Forcefully, she pushed him away. Johnny fell back with a thud and began to cry.

Wanda released her hex on John and pointed a hand at each of the kindred, stopping the children in their destructive tracks. "Enough!" She moved Susan to the left and Jonathan to the right. "You stay on your side and _you_ stay on yours.

"Now, we're going up to our suite. If either one of you so much as utters a single _word_ to each other, I'll wring your necks so tight… Am I understood?" she asked with a hostile glare.

The children nodded fervently.

The foursome retreated to their suite. As they left, St. John turned to the other X-Men who had caught Wanda's threats and whispered, "That's moy _Sheila_, and she's on _fiiire_!"

* * *

(in order of appearance)

_chère_ – dear  
_non – no  
__oui_ – yes  
_trés_ _belle_ – very beautiful  
_bonne_ _fille_ – good girl  
_enchanté, ma petit chéri_ – enchanted, my little darling  
_préfére_ – preferred  
_moi_ – me  
_jolie fille_ – pretty girl  
_petit_ – little  
_liebling_ – darling  
_ja_ – yes  
_prinzessin_ – princess  
_hä_ – eh  
_aingeal_ – angel  
_Sheila_ – girl  
_chuck a wobbly_ – to have a fit of temper  
_argy bargy_ – argument  
_ankle biter_ – small child

* * *

So, this is the second chapter to It's a Family Affair. I hope you're liking it so far, because there's so much more to come. I mean, this is only part _one_ of the second chapter. Three more to go! So, you've now met Emma Frost, Carol Danvers, Theresa Rourke, Clarice Ferguson, Susan Storm, and her brother Jonathan Storm. Who else is to come? Please stand by.

P.S. REVIEW!

Completed. 12/31/05. 10.51 am.  
Updated. 12/31/05. 10.51 am.


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